


Good Intentions

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gang Rape, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Regret, Sort Of, Unreliable Narrator, winterbones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:28:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20485127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: The road to hell is paved with good intentions.Brock Rumlow does what needs to get done to fit in with Strike Team Alpha. Or, rather, whoever needs to get done.





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I wrote this ages ago when I was in a weird place so please heed all warnings and enjoy!
> 
> note: unbeta’d all mistakes are my own

Those who saw the Soldier as a vulnerable, suggestible person weren't exactly wrong: he would do whatever it was he was ordered so long as he was operating properly. There was no guarantee of safety and back when Brock was just a member of Alpha, Commander Heeley used to indulge on those needs without care. The Asset used to look so haunted. It would crouch down and hide in the safehouse. Allaire was on his team then and the two had shared looks of disbelief when they found sitting in the tub, fully dressed and partially blocked from view by a mildewy shower curtain. Rumlow had technically found him; he was going to shower and get some rest. The rest of the team was still up and about but he was new and he needed to make a good impression. He wasn't just one of those rookies to gloss over. 

But after nearly pissing himself by stumbling upon the Fist of Hydra where he most certainly wasn't supposed to be, he grabbed the only other rookie on the team.

His face was smeared with the dark polish around his eyes and he was still wearing the mask with a tangle of brown hair framing his face. Even looking far more rumpled than Brock recalled he was still a frightening sight. The Soldier's eyes were always a bit lost but tonight they were sharp and aware. It was utterly terrifying to make eye contact with such a killer but the look he gave Brock wasn't anger or aggression. It was softer. A beg, a plea for something Brock didn’t understand. 

Brock wasn't even officially on Alpha. He was just subbing in while Morris got back on his feet after his leg was shattered. Meeting the Soldier was a fucking blessing gone to shit. This wasn't the Fist of Hydra that was hardly breathed about in fear of the superiors finding out and executing them. He looked young and frightened. 

"What should we do?" Allaire asked quietly, tilting her head a bit. She was a bit of a bitch but alright in the field. Brock was better but that was nothing new. He was better than most, he just needed the chance to prove himself. 

The Soldier copied the movement in the limited space and Allaire gave a little unsure smile that Brock wanted to smack off her face. Protocol was clear with the Soldier — no unnecessary interactions. "You're a curious thing?" She cooed in a voice that should have been directed toward a scared little kid or cornered animal — not that the Winter fucking Soldier didn't fit that description in the moment. 

Brock left Allaire with the Soldier seeing as she found him so 'curious' and went to the Commander's Second because Heeley has already gone to his quarters and he wasn't sure which room that was. The SIC was kicked back at the table slurping down fingers of whiskey as if they didn't have to be back in an active battlefield at 0500. He paused expectantly as Brock stood there, stupidly might he add. 

"Uh...Do you know where Commander Heeley is?" 

Brock wasn't sure what would come after gaining this information. Tattling on the Soldier? 'Excuse me Commander, it seems the Fist of Hydra who you were using inappropriately is hiding in the bathroom'? He would be shot on sight and they'd all pretend it was hostiles. Such things required a joint classification which meant that Brock and Allaire, the only new ones, were the only one who found it an issue. 

"Sleeping. What's wrong BT?"

Brock didn't even have time to bristle at the nickname. 

(it stood for Brockie-Talkie because he forgot to change his channels back after comm checks and accidentally radioed a BLUE FALCON back to Heeley himself instead of one of his teammates. He was lucky not to get written up but the name would be fucking death of him) 

"Okay." 

Brock turned away; a dead end. He had some hard candy left in his pack. Maybe he could toss it in the hallway and the Soldier would get out the bathroom so he could shower. It worked with dogs and the Soldier was pretty much an attack dog. He was trying to quit smoking and he saw online that keeping something in your mouth helped. So far it was bullshit and the guys made jokes about his 'oral fixation'. 

"The little Russian Soldier huddled up in the tub again," he grunted, giving him a side eye. 

Brock had a creeping suspicion he had made things worse for the Soldier and possibly himself as well. "Yessir,"

Agent Samwell smiled, all teeth, and Brock fought back the shudder that wracked his spine. "Stupid thing thinks it's human. This your first time workin' with the Soldier BT?"

Brock gave a single nod. Samwell's tone was venomous and he didn't want to give him a reason to get angrier. "You're in for a treat. See it in action earlier?" Another head shake, this one of disappointment. They had different drop points. "You will tomorrow don't worry. And let me tell you, it's a fucking monster in action. Seen it rip off a man's head 'fore. Beautiful."

Brock's nose drew up at the adjective he'd decided to use. It was emasculating and cringeworthy — then Brock got it. Clearly it was supposed to. Plus, Samwell said tomorrow so apparently Brock wasn’t going to get murdered tonight. That was good news.

"But then," Samwell's voice was a whisper of wind over dry crumbling leaves. "Ya pull it out and it's scared of its own shadow. It's stupid as fuck if it doesn't have to do with our mission. Needs helping getting outta it's gear, using the John, dressing, bathing...you name it. Helpless lil fucker. It probably could learn to do it but the techs say it keeps him so dependent on us and it never remembers."

Dark empty eyes traced over Brock's carefully schooled expression. He was bursting with judgement but also horribly curious about the rest of this story. The Soldier could rip a man's head off his body — was their control so absolute and unquestionable that they were comfortable risking their cocks and their lives just to, what, fuck a Super Soldier who wouldn't recall the dominance display? That was all it was, there was no other reason to do it other than the simple fact of 'I'm above you'. 

"So Heeley rewards himself for a job well done, then it's my turn, then Walker and Pann. Then I guess it's you, rookie." Those eyes locked onto Brock. This was a point of no return. Brock was good at telling if he was being lied to and there was nothing that said Samwell was deceiving him and that was...fucking disturbing. "How about you fetch it for me?"

Brock considered spitting at him, telling him to do it himself but that would be suicide. He'd lucked out landing here and assuming he did well, he was set for a permanent place on the team of the best. He hadn't worked this hard for nothing. Besides, it didn't even know what was going on, Brock figured. It was clueless as the best of times.

That didn't stop a sickening feeling of dread to settle in his gut weighing him down every step. The tiny bathroom smelled a bit of piss and mildew still and that made it even worse. Allaire gave him a crooked smirk. She could be pretty if she put in some effort, Brock figured. Or maybe out of the field she was. Good shape under the gear, heavy tits. He was trying to distract himself and it wasn't working. 

"You know the Fist of Hydra is almost cute."

Brock knew she meant 'cute' in the way a dog was cute but after what he had just heard, it was enough to bring the taste of bile forward on his tongue. "Samwell wants to see you Soldier." 

The metal hand clenched around it's knee, plates clicking as they realigned. It dropped his face forward, hiding behind lank strands of dark brown hair. It smelled like blood, gunpowder, sweat and a musky smell that didn't quite belong to it. Brock knew it wasn't right. The terror in it's eyes was real. It know exactly what was going to happen and Brock was part of that now right? "Why?" Allaire wondered out loud and Brock considered lying.

He could shrug his shoulders and play dumb but no matter how unpleasant it was for the Soldier, he wasn't going to be hung out to dry for insubordination. Sometimes the right thing to do was the wrong thing. And it wasn't like he was going to do anything. "C'mon Soldier," he said again, a bit more authoritatively. He had authority technically, Samwell gave it to him. "Do I need to get the Commander?"

It nearly leapt from it's hiding spot. It only stood about two inches taller than Brock but it carried itself in a slumped way, submissive almost and Brock wanted to hurl all over again. This was fucked, unbelievably fucked. He was scum for not saying something. He was scum for not helping the Soldier. He figured that the Soldier wouldn't remember; there was a special process he'd heard whispers about. The nazis had built a machine and programming that turning it into this killing machine controlled by select phrases. 

He was a doing a real shit thing but the Soldier wouldn't remember it. He wouldn't remembered Brock, even. It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter; he couldn't throw all his hard work away for...for nothing. It wouldn’t change a thing. He didn't have any more power here than the Soldier really.

Brock walked down the narrow hallway trying to think of the best way to proceed. He was impressed the Soldier behind him didn't bump into the walls. The Asset had it's shoulder pulled forward, face tilted downward.

Brock tried not to think about whatever had happened upstairs but it wasn't so hard to notice the buckle hadn't been done up on his tactical pants. Brock felt even more sick. In the dingy living room Samwell was still indulging on whiskey. The Asset's gait slowed a bit: a noticeable hesitation. If the Soldier didn't remember why would he know exactly what he was doing here?

No, Brock didn't want to think about it. 

Allaire was following and Brock wished she would have just gone upstairs. Samwell had always seemed like a good man. He was steady in the field and he had given Brock the benefit of the doubt when Heeley didn't make his displeasure about not one but two rookies being tossed at him at all hidden.

Even coming back from the field, before the Asset was told it was time to 'debrief' (Brock now got the pun and he wanted to puke) he was even tempered and explained the mundane shit that everyone but Brock and Allaire knew. He had the standard buzz cut and sharp black eyes that could bore a hole through anyone who bothered him. 

That look was on his face now, looking over Brock to the Soldier. He could hear the breathing increasing behind the muzzle. Quiet uneven pants of fear. The Asset seemed to shrink — trying to hide behind him. 

Fuck Hydra, he thought for a fleeting moment, this is disgusting.

"Aww, I think he likes you BT." Pann commented from where he had been fiddling with a radio off to the side. Now he was watching too. Brock's face felt hot and he wanted to excuse himself upstairs and pretend it wasn't happening. 

"He was hiding in the bathtub," Allaire mentioned, blissfully unaware it seemed, and completely unprompted. "Do you think something triggered him? Should the techs know?"

Samwell smiled at her, simpering. "Nah, he just knows he's got a job to do and he doesn't like it."

The Asset let out a sound — a whine. Fuck. Fuck what was he supposed to do? 

"Oh." Allaire's voice was flat now. She understood and Brock could feel her damn judgmental eyes on him. "Am I needed for anything sir?"

"You don't want to play with the Asset?" Samwell's voice didn't hold any particular sway either way. It was a simple question with a lot weighing in on it. 

Read: you don't want to be on the team? 

Brock hoped she understood now that he wasn't doing this because he was a perverted asshole. There was no choice. She had to understand, had to make the choice and suffer through with him because he wasn't doing the wrong thing here...no he couldn't help it. He didn't have a choice. He couldn't stop what was going to happen. She had to agree. She would agree and maybe her tits would make it less horrible. 

"No thank you." 

Brock's stomach plummeted to his feet. The sharp disappointment and strange feeling of betrayal caught him off guard. Naturally, as Brock did with all his bad choices, he started to reason it out — she just didn't want it as bad as he did. That was fine. Her loss. Agents who went anywhere in Hydra were on Alpha and he was going to be Commander some day. Even if he had to do stupid shit to get there. And once he was, this wouldn't happen anymore. 

That helped a bit, lessened the guilt. He wasn't a bad person. He was making a difference. Thomas Jefferson owned slaves. He could....do this and still be okay. And he wasn't going to do anything, not unless he really had to. Because he wasn't that kind of person. Because this was awful but necessary. 

You have to crack some eggs to make an omelette. 

You have to abuse the Asset to make it onto Strike team Alpha officially.

"You're dismissed." Samwell's voice made it damn clear she'd be written up for something and wouldn't see herself on a Strike team anytime soon. 

"Thank you sir." Her voice made it clear she didn't care. 

But Brock did care. So no, in that sense he really had no choice. He listened her footfalls and the squeal of one of the steps. "Women," Samwell muttered in a 'they don't get it' tone.

Pann murmured his agreement and Walker looked up from the dossier was pouring through. "What's BT doing here?" He demanded bitterly.

"Learning." Samwell grinned and snapped his fingers like the idea just struck him. "It's a trial run."

Pann snickered at his expense and Brock hoped his face didn't wither like his stomach did. He didn't want to do anything; he didn't even want to be a part of this. Nothing came easy in Hydra however, sacrifices were made. 

This was a sacrifice for Brock as much as it was for the Soldier — more for him really because he was doing this for the good of the Soldier. 

"Get him naked, rookie. Show me you can follow instructions." Samwell kicked his feet back up and Walker laid the dossier aside to watch.

Brock got the heady feeling he got when he drank too many beers too fast on an empty stomach. "Okay," his mouth was dry. "Uh, okay."

He reached out and froze. Those eyes were on him, begging again. Fuck. Guilt twisted in his gut as he hung on for a moment, hands suspended. The weight of what he was doing, what he was signing onto was a distraction from his current task. If he crossed his line there was no way back. 

Did he want it this badly?

"Today BT or I'm gonna take over." Samwell's final warning voice was not to be taken lightly. 

Brock grit his teeth and thought about the beagle he liked that had gotten too sick to walk but they didn't have to the money to put down. Brock had taken care of that — he could take care of this. 

He didn't even care about the Asset, not really. Not beyond the necessity of functioning for missions. He pulled at the buckles, ignored the uneven breathing, the eyes that silently wondered 'why are you doing this?' because he hadn't done anything wrong. Beneath the leather and Kevlar was black spandex and tactical pants. He hadn't expected so many fucking layers and Walker snorted at his huff of poorly hidden annoyance. 

He didn't want this to drag out any longer than necessary but undressing this guy was bullshit. 

"You've got it BT," Pann cheered sarcastically. "I believe in you."

"Fuck you," his nerves were a little raw, his filter a bit less professional.

Even though Pann was a superior office and he had disrespected him which, he laughed — had this been normal circumstances he would have been written up. 

"We've all been where you are Brockie," he said instead. Brock cast him a weary look. He was shorter than the others, shorter than Brock, with a jagged scar from his hairline over his eye. It looked pretty badass if Brock was being honest. Scars always fascinated him. "Just power through and we can get to the fun stuff."

"Right." Any distraction vanished as dread settled back down, like a weight in his gut. Then the Asset whined as Brock pushed the hem of the shirt up finally exposing skin. "Shut the fuck up."

He didn't mean to say it to the Asset — the guy had every right to be scared — but Brock didn't need anything else distracting him. He had to do this. He didn't have a choice. Didn't the Asset understand that? 

The Asset cut the whine off and Brock was actually startled by its obedience. Walked whistled. "Well look at that, it even listens to you."

Brock didn't want to feel satisfaction in that. He didn't ask for the cold space inside him to warm up or for his chest to puff out a bit. Walker wasn't meant to stroke his ego like he did but fuck, no he pointed it out, yeah the Asset had been listening to him. 

He pulled the shirt off the rest of the way and marveled a moment at the sheer brilliance of Hydra's greatest weapon. Barrel chested, muscular and fit, the metal arm was melded to his skin with this swatches of scar tissue. The pattern around it suggested that it at one point it had tried to claw its own prosthetic off. 

"Not bad, right?" He hadn't noticed Samwell stand until the hand fell on his shoulder. "Those Ruskie's did somethin' right making the Soldier. Fucked up everything else but they got him right. Get his pants off."

The Asset was no longer looked at Brock. It's posture was lax, and its face turned to the side with a thousand yard stare. Brock preferred that; it made everything easier. He pulled down the pants from the side and the they pooled around his boots — his fucking boots! 

Pann started to laugh. "They always fuckin' forget the boots. Gotta say I'm impressed he got this far. Remember Ricci? The fucker knocked all his teeth out."

Brock considered reeling away but the Asset didn't seem aggressive, just detached. 

"Let's go." Samwell squeezed Brock’s shoulder and he thought it was weird how his stomach seemed to contract at the same time. "We're all counting on you here Brockie."

All those stupid anti-peer pressuring ads from high school played in the back of his mind as he tapped the Soldier's calf to get him to raise his foot. 

Once the Soldier stood completely exposed he to took a step back and then another. God he felt dirty. Like he had just finished some really sketchy porn where they focused on the dude way more than the chick. 

But of fucking course it would feel gay — the Asset had a cock that was completely on display and these guys (Brock too, possibly, although he wasn't trying to think about that) planned to fuck it. That was gay. 

"Now watch and learn BT," Samwell reached for the buckle on his pants. "It's all about the control."

Brock did not want to watch and absolutely wasn't interested in fucking learning but he had come too far and worked too hard to fail now. He stepped back a few more feet and watched from a comfortable distance as Samwell grabbed a handful of the Asset's hair and dragged him down to his knees. 

His mouth fell open without any verbal orders and Samwell glanced back at him. "Natural born cock sucker, let me tell you."

Rumlow was dreaming: there was no way this was the coveted team. This group of half-drunk perverts overpowering someone — something, because the Asset isn't a person — that can't fight back? Was there any accomplishment for them? What gratification was to be taken? 

Maybe, just maybe, Brock could see the appeal of having such a powerful creature kneeling before you. He tried to divert that line of thought but was afraid to look away. Clearly this was some fucked up initiation process and failure was, as always, not an option. 

The Soldier's face was obscured by tendrils of hair darkened by grease and sweat and dirt and probably blood from whatever victims he'd claimed. He had done Hydra a service and this was how they thanked him? 

"Open your mouth like a good boy and I won't get out the stick."

'The sticks' were new and reserved for the senior members because the rookies wouldn't have been tasked with disciplining the Asset. Brock was never more thankful. The Asset's arm whirled and Brock's heart skipped a beat. He took a step back on pure instinct reaching for the gun that wasn't there. Samwell glanced up at him with a crude smirk as if his cock wasn't hanging out flaccid, like Brock was somehow the ridiculous one. "What? Scared?"

Brock could think of several emotions going through him and maybe there was a twinge of fear for his life if the Fist of Hydra realized what the fuck was going on but it wasn't the most prominent. "No sir," he lied. 

Samwell let out a mirthful chuckle and took a hold of the Soldier's hair shaking him like a poorly behaved dog. "Open your fucking mouth wider faggot."

That word always knocked the air from Brock a bit. Not because he was gay though. Brock most certainly wasn't — he'd successfully fucked two and half women in his life and the failed second attempt wasn't his fault, he just drank too much before and she was ugly — but it was an ugly word and he, a professional, didn't say such things.

Brock didn't know why his eyes fell on the Soldier's face to see if he obeyed, to see if his eyes burned with anger or maybe to even witness him biting off Samwell's cock. Thin, dry lips parted a bit more and he got another shake. The Asset opened his mouth and angled his face upward — opening his throat for fucking.

Brock's pants felt a bit tighter around the zipper and he felt like he was suffocating. This was horrible...evil...a manipulation of the Fist of Hydra — who had a cock fed deep into his throat until his nose was pressed into Samwell's pubic mound and the man was groaning in elation. Brock wondered how it felt. Probably like being inside the barrel of a hair-trigger loaded gun, the danger of it was half the thrill. 

It's wrong, he reminded himself. Even if it had been almost two years since he got his dick wet in anything except his own left fist, it was still wrong. Samwell pulled the Asset back and he took a deep breath before he took the turgid length of flesh back down his gullet. 

"Deep throats like a goddamn champ," Walker had gotten closer to Brock and he hadn't noticed. 

Rumlow had the urge to cover the growing lump in front of his pants but noted the other men had them too. 

"I'm not gay." It was a preface to his erection and Walker sneered.

"You think we are? The Asset isn't a person, it's a thing. A gun with two good holes made for recreational use. Start thinking of it as human you'll fuck up the programming and it'll kill us all. Besides," Walker smirked, harsh and not all comforting. "It likes it. Rubs itself off after if you let it. Humps the floor or its hand like a fucking dog."

The Asset was finally given another chance to breath and Samwell's face was ruddy and his breathing rough and uneven. It didn't feel right to look anywhere in the too-small living space of the safe house. Rumlow's heart was ramped up, veins flooded with adrenaline and conflicting emotions. The Soldier moved forward to take the cock in his mouth and again, the sound of Samwell hitting him made Brock jump. Walker tittered and Brock wanted to bust his fucking nose. 

"You take what I give you, greedy cockslut." Samwell smacked the back of the Soldier’s head fearlessly then leered in Brock's direction. "Fuckin' begging for it, see? Likes it even with that empty head on it's shoulders. It's got urges still. Don't care how they get filled."

Brock nodded along dumbly. He didn't know what to say even if he trusted himself to speak. The Asset's head pulled forward again and all Brock could hear beneath his own roaring pulse in his ears was the sound of a throat moving over Samwell's dick. 

Brock was relieved (and disgusted, of course he was disgusted by it because it waswrong) when Samwell grunted and strings of white laid in ribbons on the Asset's face and in its hair. Brock felt bad for whoever the poor sap was who had to scrub cum off the Soldier before sticking him back in cryo on base. 

"Thought you forgot you lost that game of poker," Walker commented as Samwell let go of the Soldier's hair and tucked his softening length away. 

"Man of my word, aren't I?"

Samwell kicked the Soldier toward Walker. The thunk of heavy boots hitting ribs made Brock think of all the times he had been kicked like that growing up. But the Asset did not cry out in pain or show any indication that the blow had affect it beyond shuffling on its knees around to face Walker. Brock didn't want to look at him directly but he was faced with it regardless. He had dead eyes, glazed over and unseeing. The Soldier’s face was pale but his lips were wet and swollen and pouty and...fuck, they probably would've felt heavenly on his dick.

"Get yourself open," Walker ordered.

Brock couldn't tear his eyes away. It was like a goddamn car wreck: terrible and thrilling to see at once. Except instead of a carnage he was watching the Soldier work open his own asshole with dry metal fingers. It had to hurt — a chick had gotten smart and dared touch Rumlow there once. He'd never struck a woman before but in that moment he really wanted to. It hurt like a bitch.

"You've got ten more second Soldier." Walker sounded bored as took a step forward. "Nine, eight, seven,"

The Soldier made a small huffing sound as those finger dove in deeper, pulling at his rim in a way that made Rumlow's own asshole cringe and tighten. Fist of Hydra fingering himself? This was the shit no one put in the recruitment info. 

"Five, four, three..." Walker was really dragging it out now, palming himself through his tactical pants and he sneered at the Soldier's desperate attempts to follow orders and probably make what happened next hurt a bit less. "Two, one."

The Soldier's fingers withdrew immediately, an unissued order that he knew. Brock found himself doubting how good of a job the wipes actually did — the Soldier remembered this. 

The light caught a bit of cum on his fingers and yeah, Brock was gonna heave if he wasn't careful. 

He still had Commander Heely's cum in him. That was fucked. Never mind the strange pressure in Brock's groin as he thought about the sheer power they all held over the Soldier in the moment. The way he presented himself to Walker who was unzipping his pants and leaning down.

Brock looked away, unsure if he could stomach seeing such a violation so graphically. The sound the Soldier made was wounded — a plea, a scream, a groan all muddled into one sound that was chilling and hot and horrible and frighteningly wonderful. It was like the sound of a shot fired, point blank.

Brock felt the adrenaline buzzing around his brain as he tried to remain indifferent. But Christ the little grunting noises, the way the Soldier's body shook a bit by the sheer force of a man he could kill with a single blow. But he wouldn't because he was completely subservient.

"Fuck," Walker’s thrusts became hurried and uneven. 

Brock definitely didn't want to watch a man cum — but seeing as he didn't have a choice, he figured it was best seeing them come into something as magnificent and deadly as the Winter Soldier. 

When Walker backed up and was back his feet catching his breath, Brock couldn't help but peek at the swollen hole and the trickle of pearly fluid sliding down hairless testicles. Hairless. Interesting. Brock now wondered who shaved the Soldier’s ballsack. Pann replaced Walker and Brock suddenly feared he was next. 

Pann presses his middle and ring finger inside the Soldier, that kind of touch that Brock never imagined a human being would get away with doing to such a dangerous creature. That heady surreal feeling was back and he was beginning to understand what it was: power.

“Course you had come in him,” complained Pann. “Now I’ve got your nut all over my fingers.”

Walker was lighting a cigarette he’d rolled earlier as he took a seat to watch. He grinned cockily and let smoke curl from his nose. “Make it clean you up.”

The sensible part of him should have been recoiling in disgust and at how horribly wrong it all was but he was fascinated. He wanted to watch the Winter Soldier lick cum off the hands of his superiors because he was ordered to. He wanted the Soldier to be aware the cum had been up his ass because his superior officer put it there. He wanted him to thank him it.

Brock wanted to leave. He knew that he would probably be flushing any chances of being on Strike team Alpha down the can if he did. But if this was what the position would make him become may he was better off blacklisted like Allaire.

But he didn’t. He took his place, kneeling down. His hands roamed tentatively at first along his thighs, solid with muscle but smooth soft despite the scars that peppered the milky skin. Brock’s breathing erratic and his cock throbbing. His hole was pink and wet, waiting for him to fuck him like all the others. He felt sick and giddy all at once. He was doing something awful, something immoral and… Fuck he had no choice, really. 

The Soldier was hot and silky inside and Brock groaned in relief at that sweet warmth clamping on his cock as he thrust, slowly at first toward his orgasm. It came quickly, too quickly, and his hips stuttered before he shot his load inside the Fist of Hydra. 

•• •• •• ••

“It was...sick, what they’re doing.” Brock knew there wasn’t anyone to overhear. “I just… Getting on the team is important but I won’t help them…”

“Then you’re not a complete monster then.” Allaire decided. “As long as you didn’t like what they’re doing you’re not a monster Brockie.”

He felt sick. That goddamn nickname would never go away and he had liked it. That was what scared him, how eager he had been to join in on something he knew was unforgivable. He gripped himself shamefully in the sleeping bag and tried to rub one out as quickly as possible. He came with ease and moments later he heard the low cry of the Soldier and the warm after orgasm glow faded to cold regret.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you thought of this fic. ^^


End file.
